


We Will Find Each Other In The Dark

by Feelforfaith



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelforfaith/pseuds/Feelforfaith
Summary: Heat and pleasure spiral out of control inside him, and yet, it's wrong somehow. The touch is different, though he doesn't know why. Zach has touched him in every conceivable place, in every conceivable way, and yet, he's never touched him likethisbefore. It's like a dream where he knows he's walking through familiar places, but nothing is the way he expects it.





	We Will Find Each Other In The Dark

Chris startles awake at the faint sound of the door clicking open and shut. He listens intently, but all he hears is his own breathing, too loud in the dark room. Heavy curtains and sound-proof windows block any light or sound from the street eleven stories down. He lifts his head, trying to make out a shape, catch a sound, something, anything, but there's nothing but darkness and his own breathing. His fingers itch to find the light switch on the bedside lamp, but he curls his hand into a loose fist and pushes the thought away. He can do it. He trusts Zach.

Seconds tick away. Ten. Fifteen. A minute. Maybe.

"I want you face down on the bed."

At the sound of Zach's voice relief washes through his body like a warm current, and he lets out a breath. It's not that he thought it wasn't Zach, it's just ... In the dark everything seems a little unreal, a little off.

Without a word he rolls over onto his stomach and listens for the footsteps across the thick hotel carpet. There are none, and he jumps when the bed dips right next to him and a hand touches his thigh through the sheets.

"Shhh ... easy."

Even through the fabric, he can feel the touch. Fingers slide up and down his thigh, then the sheet is dragged off him, and it lands on the floor with a whisper. He drags air in through his nose and releases it slowly. His mouth is dry, and he smoothes the tip of his tongue along his lips. Without the sheet covering him the room feels cooler, the breeze of AC against his naked skin like a cool touch of feathers, light and teasing, raising goosebumps. Despite that, heat and anticipation are gathering low in his abdomen.

The fingers tracing patterns on his skin are warm, their touch self-assured, when they travel up his thigh again, to his buttock. They stop there, and he spreads his legs, inviting them. He arches his back, stretching his muscles, when, accepting his invitation, the fingers slip between his legs, touching, but not enough, not like he wants them, not where he wants them.

A kiss against the small of his back makes him arch again, then another kiss and another; they leave a trail of shivers up his spine. Fingers dance across his skin, stroking his back, before they close around his neck. A rough cheek, the ever-present five-o'clock-shadow, brushes against the side of his face and he jolts—not at the touch, but at the scent.

He takes a deep breath and pulls in a faint, barely-there, scent of cologne that is not Zach's. It's sharper, with a hint of something exotic, unknown, something he can't pinpoint. Zach doesn't wear anything like that. He drags the air deep into his lungs, and the unfamiliar scent unsettles him like a stranger.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

The words whisper warmth against his ear, and the fingertips press harder into the back of his neck, hot, almost threatening.

"Not, unless you want me to."

He imagines what it would be like to have those fingers closing around his throat, harder and harder, until he couldn't breathe, imagines the bruises they would leave and what they would look like tomorrow. He bites down on his lip.

"Do you want me to hurt you?"

The word comes out of his mouth with a delay he recognizes as hesitation only after the fact. "No."

The mattress shifts and the scent and the warmth of another body next to his are gone. The clink of a metal buckle cuts through the air somewhere off to the left, and he turns his head toward the sound. He closes his eyes, opens them again—it doesn't make a difference. He reaches out to find the edge of the bed. His fingers close around it, something solid, a tangible border between the bed and the rest of the world.

There's rustling of fabric a few feet away from him and breathing, not his own, slow and loud in the silence. He closes his eyes again because it's easier this way to remember what Zach looks like when he's undressing. The way he unbuttons his shirt, one by one, without hurry. The way he slips the shirt off his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. The way Zach unbuttons his jeans, pushing the fly apart just enough to tease. The way he toes off his chucks, the right one first, then the left. The way he pushes his jeans down all the way and steps out of them. The way Zach looks at him with concentration he can almost feel on his skin. The way Zach wants him as if he never wanted anything more in his life.

He gasps and startles when the bed dips again, and there are hands touching him. The unfamiliar scent of cologne mixes with a generic smell of hotel sheets and something he barely recognizes as Zach's skin to create something unknown and ... not entirely comfortable. He's never been very good with the unknown. He wants to dissect it, break it into fragments and pieces he can make sense of.

The hands stroke the back of his knee, his thigh, his ass; they caress, press harder; fingernails scrape his skin. He groans when the hands grip his hips, pull him up onto his knees and force him to lean forward onto all fours.

Heat and pleasure spiral out of control inside him, and yet, it's _wrong_ somehow. The touch is different, though he doesn't know why. Zach has touched him in every conceivable place, in every conceivable way, and yet, he's never touched him like _this_ before. It's like a dream where he knows he's walking through familiar places, but nothing is the way he expects it. He knows it should be familiar, but it isn't, and in the dream it makes panic rise in his throat.

He lets his body yield to expert hands, lets it arrange itself according to their subtle directions: _move up,_ and _closer_ , and _spread your legs wider_. He's hot; every nerve under his skin anticipates the touch, like a tight grid of sensors. His cock hangs heavy and hard. He tenses when slick fingers slip inside him, but before he forces himself to relax, the fingers are gone and he's being pulled back, against the heat of the body behind him. It's familiar and strange at the same time, and he squeezes his eyes shut because it makes it easier to remember Zach's face.

_Zach_ , he thinks between heavy breaths.

He can feel Zach's breath— _somebody's_ breath—against his skin. The unfamiliar scent shocks his lungs again and again; the hands hold him tight in place, etching unexpected patterns on his skin, and it feels like an earthquake when everything stable shifts under his feet. He grips the sheets. The familiar lines of Zach's face in his head blur like a wet watercolor.

_Zach, say something._ He wants to hear Zach's voice, wants to know that it is Zach. But he doesn't say it out loud. Not yet. He can do it.

He groans when he's entered, and it's not unexpected, but the movement lacks Zach's usual finesse. His fingers dig into the mattress, clutch the sheet harder, but that doesn't help him stay in place. The force of the thrusts shoves him forward and forward and forward until he reaches out and grips the headboard to anchor himself. A hand closes around his cock, and it should be familiar, but it's not, and everything is hot and sweaty and fluid, and so so good, and so, so fucked up. Strands of pleasure and panic and orgasm start pulling at the edges of his consciousness all at the same time. He's trying to fight it off, all of it, struggles to breathe, to get away, to push back and get more of it, all of it, because he can't take it anymore.

A sound rips out of his throat, almost a cry. "Zach—"

"I've got you," Zach's voice whispers right next to him. "I've got you, let go."

Zach's hand is reaching over his shoulder and closing around his cheek, Zach's body molded against his. Chris bites his lip, and the orgasm shatters into a thousand pieces inside him, sending splinters of heat and need and desperation through his body.

Somewhere between the moment Zach pushes into him again with a jumbled moan and the moment his muscles give in and he collapses onto the bed under Zach's weight, Zach comes too. With his head pressed into the pillow and Zach's ragged breath against his shoulder, he doesn't feel like moving—not now, not tonight. Maybe not ever.

After a long while, Zach slips off him but wraps his arm around Chris's back and pulls him close.

"You all right?" Zach asks.

"Fuck," Chris says, his voice muffled by the pillow. It might be the full extent of rational thinking he's capable of at the moment because he feels as if his thoughts are floating in a giant pool of jello. "I'm ... I'm all right."

Zach's fingers brush through his hair, so gentle, he would make fun of Zach if his mind weren't totally blown. He turns his head toward Zach, and Zach brings their heads closer, until their foreheads touch.

"Do you want me to turn the light on?" Zach asks, his breath mingling with Chris's own.

He can't see it in the darkness, but when he closes his eyes, he can picture Zach's face perfectly. He reaches up to map Zach's stubble with his fingertips, the way he always does, the way Zach likes. The scent of unfamiliar cologne is still there, but it's overpowered by the smell of Zach's sweat. "No," he says. "I'm good."

"How did it make you feel?" Zach asks later, rubbing his cheek against Chris's palm.

Chris shakes his head. "You have no idea how much ..."

"It fucks with your head?"

"Yeah."

  
  


Minutes pass, ten, fifteen, an hour maybe, before he drifts off to sleep with the familiar touch of Zach's hands on his skin.  
  


(end)


End file.
